"Well," said the professor, "we live to learn. Our fathers never dreamed of gas, of railways, of telegraphs, and I did not suspect the existence of your wonderful ship."
"Shortly, my dear sir," said the captain, "your children—that is to say, the next generation—will travel through the air in flying machines; your railway engines will own electricity as their motive power. There is no end to scientific discovery; the world is in its infancy. We are just emerging from barbarism. Wait and watch, that's my motto. You must not be surprised at anything in these days."
"You are right—we are on the march," said the professor.
The day passed, and at half-past nine the Searcher rose to the surface to receive her supply of air.
Nothing disturbed the silence but the cry of the pelican and other birds of the night, with the occasional sound of the escaping steam of a steamer traveling toward the Far East.
Mont could not rest below, and at once ascended to the platform to breath the fresh air. In the darkness he saw a pale light, discolored by the fog, which burned about a mile off.
"A lighthouse," he said.
The captain was by his side, and quietly replied:
"It is the floating lightship of Suez."
"We are near the mouth of the tunnel, I suppose? Is the entrance easy?"